


Sweetness as the Honeycomb

by GreyMichaela



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Old Married Couple, So much kissing, Tumblr Prompt, bickering as foreplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-09 19:47:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18644893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyMichaela/pseuds/GreyMichaela
Summary: Zoey’s mouth lolls open in a doggy grin and she swipes Tyson’s face with a quick tongue before he can dodge.“Ew!”“Brought that on yourself,” Gabe says, and he’s not even bothering to hold back the laughter.“Just like your father,” Tyson mutters as he stands, wiping at his face. “All tongue and drool everywhere.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> RPF disclaimer, no disrespect intended, etc.
> 
> The first part of this was a Tumblr prompt for the phrase "who hurt you, man?" I liked it enough that I decided it needed a coda, so I took a break from the novel I'm working on to play in the Landesbarrie sandbox again for a bit.

“Dance with me.”

Gabe takes a swallow of beer. “Nah.” He gives Tyson a smile to soften the rejection but Tyson pouts anyway.

“Scared I’ll outshine you?”

Gabe snorts. “Maybe I just don’t want to be publicly associated with whatever that thing on your face is.”

Nate chokes on beer and Grubi laughs out loud as Tyson’s mouth falls open in outrage.

“It’s a _playoff beard,_ you jerk!”

“No, Tys.” Gabe rubs his own face. _“This_ is a playoff beard. You see how thick it is? You see how it actually looks _like_ a beard?” It’s hard to tell in the dim light but he’s pretty sure Tyson’s going bright red. Gabe doesn’t want to actually hurt his feelings, but he _does_ want to distract him from dragging him onto the dancefloor, so he keeps going. “You look like someone sprinkled broom bristles on your face and then glued them on.”

Grubi’s holding his ribs and Nate’s given up trying to hide his own laughter.

“Not everyone can grow a perfect viking beard, okay?” Tyson snaps.

“Well no,” Gabe concedes. “But at least most of the guys manage something that doesn’t look like a mangy dog’s ass.”

He’s pretty sure Grubi and Nate are in actual tears. Tyson glares at Gabe, then switches that laser look to Nate.

“Nate. Nate the Great. NateMaaaaac. NateDoggitydog. You love me, right?”

“Against my better judgment,” Nate agrees as he wipes away tears with a look that says he knows what’s coming.

Tyson grabs his hand and hauls him physically out of the booth. For a little guy, he’s got surprising strength, and Gabe tries very hard not to think about that power being used on him.

They’re heading to the dance floor, and Gabe watches surreptitiously as the song switches to something uptempo that he doesn’t recognize. It’s possible he’s getting old, he reflects, staring down into the dregs of his beer.

All too soon, Nate and Tyson are back. Gabe determinedly doesn’t notice the sweat making Tyson’s skin gleam, raising a hand to get his waitress’s attention.

“Oh, I’ll get it!” Tyson says. He grabs the mug and is out of the booth before Gabe can argue.

Gabe sighs. “Where does he get that energy?”

“It’s Tyson,” Nate says, like that explains it, and, well… it kind of does.

When Tyson’s glass is empty, Gabe is ready. He snatches it away before Tyson can stand. “I’ll do it.  Another chocolatini?”

Tyson gives him a weird look but nods.

Gabe’s waiting in line when someone warm plasters themselves up against his back. Gabe takes a breath and prepares his tactful rejection when he turns and realizes it’s Tyson blinking up at him, giving him that awful smile, the one Gabe is helpless against.

“Dance with me,” Tyson says again.

“I’m surprised you’re willing to talk to me after that chirping, let alone dance with me.”

Tyson shrugs. “You didn’t mean it. Dance with me.”

“ _No_ ,” Gabe says, disentangling himself from Tyson’s octopus-like clinging.

“Who hurt you, man?” Tyson asks. “What do you have against dancing?”

Gabe heaves a sigh. “I _can’t_ , okay?”

“You… can’t what?”

Gabe glares at him. “I can’t dance, Tyson.”

Tyson blinks. “Are you serious right now?”

“Yes! I can’t find the rhythm, I don’t know half the songs, and I have no idea how to… I don’t know, _move_.”

The song currently blaring ends and the DJ takes the mic. “Alright, we’re gonna slow it down up in here. This one’s for the lovers.” A slow, driving beat begins, a bass line twining its way between the pauses, and Tyson’s eyes light up. He’s got an iron grip on Gabe’s wrist and he’s dragging him out on the floor before Gabe can think of a good excuse to run.

“Look,” Tyson says, stepping close. His eyes are intent and Gabe finds himself leaning forward to listen. “It’s like sex, okay?”

Gabe swallows hard, but Tyson’s not done. He hooks a finger in Gabe’s belt loop and pulls their bodies flush.

“All you have to do,” he says, and Gabe is pretty sure he’s not imagining how much huskier Tyson’s voice has suddenly gotten, “is move with me. Do what I do. Can you manage that?”

Gabe nods, unable to speak. Tyson sways and Gabe mirrors the movement as the music thrums through his bones, setting his nerves buzzing. Tyson’s hands settle on Gabe’s hips, warm and solid, moving him in time to the rhythm.

“Feel that?” he asks.

Gabe’s the captain of the Avs, he should be thinking about their public image, what will happen if pictures of them dancing so closely end up on social media. He can’t find it in himself to care. They might as well be alone on the dance floor. Tyson’s eyes are dark and luminous in the dim light, his hands steady on Gabe’s hips.

He licks his lips and Gabe follows the motion, unable to stop himself. He wants—he _wants_. He’s so hard and he knows Tyson feels it, because that’s definitely a sizable erection rubbing against his own.

“Tys,” he whispers. He can’t remember how to form words. He wants to ask Tyson to come home with him, to stay for breakfast, to never leave. _Kiss me_ , he wants to beg. _Tell me you love me as much as I love you._

Somehow. _Somehow_ , Tyson seems to know. His mouth, his beautiful, perfect mouth that Gabe wants to kiss so badly, quirks up into a smile.

“Not here,” he says.  “Where are we going, Gabe?”

It takes Gabe a minute to marshal his thoughts. “I—my place. If we go to yours, Nate could walk in.”

Tyson shudders elaborately and slides a hand down Gabe’s arm to link their fingers. “Let’s go, then.”


	2. Chapter 2

_ This is happening, _ Tyson thinks, leaning against the door and watching Gabe as he drives. His hands are at 10 and 2, of course, and Tyson can’t help the surge of affection. In a few minutes, he’s going to get to do—hopefully—whatever he wants to this beautiful man, and Gabe seems every bit on board with the idea as Tyson is.

He stretches a hand across the divider and rests it on Gabe’s thigh. Gabe  _ jumps, _ his whole body going stiff with tension.

“Not while I’m  _ driving,” _ he hisses, sounding scandalized.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted you?” Tyson counters.

“Well, you can just wait a few goddamn more minutes,” Gabe snaps. He’s gripping the wheel tightly, his jaw set.

“Mm,” Tyson says. “Waiting’s not really my strong suit.”

“Oh, I’ve noticed.”

Tyson slides his hand higher up Gabe’s deliciously muscled thigh, relishing the twitch that gets him. “Have you noticed how much I’ve flirted with you?” He’s genuinely curious about the answer, and he appreciates that Gabe gives it some actual thought.

“I just… I guess I just assumed you were like that with everyone,” he says after a few minutes.

“Well.” Tyson traces along Gabe’s inseam. Gabe’s knuckles are white on the wheel, he notices, thrilled. “I mean, I  _ do _ like to flirt with everyone. It’s kind of like breathing for me. But—” He cups Gabe’s groin, not bothering to hide the groan at how hard Gabe is under his hand. “I actually  _ mean _ it with you.”

_ “Tyson,” _ Gabe husks. “Get your hand off me before I wreck this vehicle.”

Tyson laughs out loud but obeys, slouching back in his seat. A thought occurs to him and he slips a hand under his own waistband.

_ “No,” _ Gabe says, somehow gripping the wheel even tighter.

“You said don’t touch  _ you, _ ” Tyson counters. He works his way down into his boxers and whines as he wraps his fingers around his length. “God,  _ God, _ Gabe, I can’t wait for this to be you—”

Gabe swears in Swedish and speeds up.

He pulls into his driveway in record time, jerking to a stop so hard the tires screech in protest and Tyson’s thrown forward against his seatbelt.

“Easy, pal,” he says. “You have all night to do anything you want to me.”

Gabe unbuckles and lunges across the divider to drag Tyson into a hungry kiss. Tyson can’t help his laugh—his hand is still down his pants and he’s trapped in his seatbelt and yet somehow it’s the hottest kiss he’s ever had, Gabe’s mouth molten and filthy as he licks inside Tyson’s, breath feathering hot across Tyson’s face.

“That’s our first kiss,” he manages when Gabe lets go of him. “And I was jacking off at the time. Yet people—okay, Nate and EJ—say I have no romance in my soul.”

“You don’t,” Gabe says, grinning at him in the dim light of the car. “But that’s okay.”

“Pretty sure you’ve got enough romance for both of us,” Tyson agrees. “Shall we move this inside?”

In answer, Gabe pops Tyson’s seatbelt and quirks an eyebrow.

They don’t touch on their way up the walk, mindful of any neighbors who might be watching, but the second the door is closed behind them, Tyson has Gabe up against it, shoving a thigh between his and sealing their mouths together.

Gabe kisses back hungrily, hands roving over Tyson’s arms, his chest, up his throat to cup his face.

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” he whispers when Tyson breaks the kiss to attack his criminally beautiful throat. “God, Tys, do you have any idea what you do to me?”

Tyson cups Gabe’s crotch and leans back just enough to grin wickedly up at him. “I mean, I have  _ some _ idea.”

“It’s not just that, though,” Gabe says. His eyes are strangely earnest as he catches both Tyson’s hands and brings them up, pressing them against his heart. “Tys, I—” He hesitates and Tyson can’t breathe.

“Say it,” he manages. “Say it and you know I’ll say it back, Gabe, you  _ know _ I—”

“I love you,” Gabe interrupts, and despite knowing what he was about to say, despite being braced for it, Tyson feels like he’s been boarded by Byfuglien.

All air has left his system. He can only gape like a landed fish as Gabe fidgets, fear filling his beautiful blue eyes.

“You said,” he begins, then stops. “I thought you—”

“I l-love you so f-fucking much,” Tyson says, and drags his head down into another searing kiss. “Please, Gabe, please take me to bed?”

Gabe’s smile is wolfish as he grabs Tyson’s hand and pulls him up the stairs to the bedroom. He stops inside the door, though, and a look of anguish crosses his face.

“Zoey,” he says, and Tyson hears a pitiful whine from downstairs. “I’m sorry,” Gabe continues, and he looks like a puppy expecting to be kicked. “I’m so sorry, Tys, I have to take her out really quick and feed her, is it—can you wait?”

Tyson rolls his eyes. “No, Gabe, if you don’t throw me on that bed and take me in a manly fashion right now, I’m leaving and never coming back.”

Gabe blinks and then his expression clears. “‘A manly fashion?’ Really?”

“First phrase that came to mind,” Tyson says, grinning at him. “Let’s go take care of your girl so you can take care of me.”

He follows Gabe back down to the kitchen, appreciating the view wholeheartedly. “You should never wear anything but suit pants,” he comments as Gabe crouches in front of Zoey’s crate. Tyson bites back a whimper at the way the fabric stretches across his ass, and Gabe gives him a judgmental look over his shoulder.

“No jeans, no shorts? Nothing but suit pants?” He flicks the crate door open and Zoey dashes out, giving Tyson a perfunctory swipe of her tongue in greeting before running to the door and dancing in place.

“A case could be made for you not wearing anything at all,” Tyson muses, following them out into the backyard, and cups the curve of Gabe’s ass with one gentle hand.

Gabe leans into it, settling an arm around Tyson’s shoulders. They watch as Zoey busily inspects the yard for any changes, snuffling through the grass and along the fenceline.

“Might make it hard to play hockey,” Gabe says, and it takes Tyson a minute to remember the conversation they’d been having. Static takes over his brain at the thought of Gabe in skates and gloves and nothing else.

“Fuck, why is that hot?” he whines.

Gabe laughs out loud, head falling back as he holds onto Tyson’s shoulder.

“Stop laughing at me,” Tyson demands.

Gabe laughs harder and Tyson glares at him, then removes his hand from Gabe’s ass. That’ll show him.

“Aw baby, don’t sulk,” Gabe says, and he’s teasing, Tyson  _ knows _ he’s teasing, but he’s stuck on that endearment and he can’t get his brain to function. He must make a noise because Gabe tilts his head, looking thoughtful. “You like pet names?” Gabe asks, stepping around in front of him and tipping Tyson’s chin up.

“G-good ones,” Tyson manages. “You call me honeymuffin or something and you won’t get a blowjob for a week.”

Gabe laughs, almost soundless this time. Their mouths are very close and he smells so good, Tyson’s knees are weak. 

“Hey Tyson,” Gabe murmurs, running his hands up and down Tyson’s arms.

“Y-yeah.” Tyson leans into Gabe’s strength, eyes drooping. The stars are out, cold and frozen on a background of black satin, and it’s chilly in Gabe’s backyard. Tyson doesn’t care. He could stay like this forever, Gabe’s hands so tender on his skin.

“Baby,” Gabe whispers, and presses a kiss to Tyson’s forehead.

Tyson’s knees  _ actually _ buckle. He clutches desperately at Gabe’s arms and Gabe laughs again but it’s breathless this time.

“Oh my god,” he says, and then they’re kissing again, Tyson’s skin cold but Gabe’s mouth so, so warm, and Tyson can’t do anything but cling to him and let himself be swept away.

They’re jolted apart by a cold, wet nose as Zoey shoves her way between them, ready to greet Tyson properly now that her own business has been taken care of. Tyson drops to a crouch and gathers her into his arms, crooning to her.

“Hey there, baby girl,” he says, dodging the tongue she aims at his face with a laugh. “Still slumming it with this guy, huh? You know you can move in with me whenever you want? Just say the word.”

“She can’t actually talk,” Gabe points out from above them, and he sounds almost unbearably fond. 

Tyson pretends to be horrified, rubbing Zoey’s silky ears. “Is  _ that _ why she hasn’t begged for help? Hey. Hey Zo.” He grabs Zoey’s face, tilting it up so he can gaze into her eyes. “Blink twice if you need to be rescued, Zoey, got it?”

Zoey’s mouth lolls open in a doggy grin and she swipes Tyson’s face with a quick tongue before he can dodge.

“Ew!”

“Brought that on yourself,” Gabe says, and he’s not even bothering to hold back the laughter.

“Just like your father,” Tyson mutters as he stands, wiping at his face. “All tongue and drool everywhere.”

Gabe’s outraged gasp is the only warning he gets, and Tyson’s already laughing as he twists out of Gabe’s reaching hands, dodging away toward the house.

He makes it inside just in time and locks the door between them, grinning at Gabe through the glass.

Gabe glares back. “Let me in.”

“No, you’ll drool on me,” Tyson says, and Gabe’s glare intensifies.

“Tyson, let me the fuck in, it’s  _ my house _ .”

“Not anymo-ore,” Tyson sing-songs, grinning like a loon. Gabe’s lips twitch and then he pulls the scowl back into place.

“It’s  _ cold _ , Tys, open the door.”

“You’re from Sweden,” Tyson counters. “Shouldn’t you be used to colder weather than this? Or have you gone soft?”

Gabe’s eyes go hot and dark and he flattens his hands against the glass. “Let me in my goddamn house and I’ll show you just how  _ soft  _ I am,” he growls.

_ “Fuck,” _ Tyson says, and unlocks the door.

Gabe shoulders it open, Zoey on his heels, and grabs a suddenly breathless Tyson by the shoulders, muscling him across the floor until Tyson’s ass hits the counter. He goes limp in Gabe’s hands, letting him bend him backward. 

“You want me to drool on you, honeymuffin?” Gabe says in his deepest, sexiest voice, and it’s like a bucket of cold water upended over Tyson’s head. He starts giggling and can’t stop, shoving ineffectually at Gabe’s chest. Gabe’s grinning too, as he sets Tyson back on his feet.

Tyson is weak with laughter, leaning against Gabe’s solid frame.  _ “Never _ say ‘drool’ in a sexy situation ever again,” he manages finally. 

“It could be our safeword,” Gabe says with a completely straight face, and Tyson—freezes. He looks up, into Gabe’s face. There’s amusement there, but also calculated interest. 

“That’s—” Tyson stops and shakes his head. “Okay. Um. We’re definitely revisiting this conversation. But not for our first time. Are you ever going to feed your poor starving hound so we can take this upstairs?”

“She’s a pit bull, not a hound,” Gabe says, but he pecks Tyson on the nose and releases him to go to the pantry as Zoey bounces around him in ecstatic anticipation.

Tyson leans against the counter and watches as Gabe puts Zoey in a down-stay, measures the food, puts it in the bowl, then gives her the signal. Gabe pats her shoulder and straightens, giving Tyson a meaningful look.

“She’ll be busy awhile. What are we waiting for?”

In answer, Tyson holds out his hand. Gabe takes it and Tyson leads him from the kitchen.

 

In the bedroom, though, he’s struck with a sudden fit of shyness and he stops halfway to the bed. What if he isn’t good enough? What if Gabe expects skill and stamina and like, deepthroating? Tyson is pretty sure he’s never deepthroated anything bigger than a Dairy Queen soft-serve.

Gabe tugs him around, his eyes soft and concerned. “Hey,” he says gently.

“I haven’t been with a lot of guys,” Tyson blurts.

“Okay,” Gabe says immediately. He runs his hands up and down Tyson’s arms, soothing and stroking. “You know I don’t care about that, right?”

“Yeah but maybe I  _ do,” _ Tyson points out. “I want it to be good for you.”

Somehow, Gabe’s eyes get softer. “It will be.” He takes a step closer and reaches for the top button of Tyson’s shirt, waiting for his nod before flicking it free. “I may not be a good dancer,” he murmurs, working his way down the shirt and tugging it free of Tyson’s waistband, “but this I can do. What do you like, sweetheart?”

“Oh god,  _ that,” _ Tyson says, breath catching. Gabe is so impossibly beautiful, so intent on his task of unbuckling Tyson’s belt and opening his pants, that Tyson can’t breathe for the focus. Gabe’s hands are warm and big and his fingers are deft, skimming over Tyson’s hip bones and making him shiver.

“Would you like me to tell you what I want?” Gabe asks. He pushes Tyson’s shirt off his shoulders and Tyson obediently lifts his arms so Gabe can pull off his undershirt.

“Does it involve you being more naked?” Tyson asks hopefully.

Gabe laughs and bends to kiss him. “That can be arranged,” he allows, and steps back to take his shirt off. 

Tyson’s mouth is dry as Gabe strips in quick, economic movements. The red-gold hair on his chest is thick and curling and it looks soft. Tyson wants to touch it, so he does, running a palm over Gabe’s pec as Gabe takes a startled breath. 

It’s as soft as Tyson had expected, and Gabe’s chest is firm, skin like satin over hardwon muscle. 

“This is real, right?” Tyson asks, looking up. “I’m not trapped in some hallucinogenic feverdream?”

Gabe’s eyebrows go up. “Have you been taking hallucinogens, Tys?”

“Well no, but—” Tyson gestures vaguely. “Just making sure.”

Gabe’s lips twitch. “It’s real.” He pushes his pants down and off and kicks them aside. “Come here.” He takes Tyson’s hand and pulls him to the bed. Tyson crawls on, Gabe following, and they lie down facing each other. Gabe runs a finger up Tyson’s forearm. “I’ve decided that kissing you is one of my favorite things, so I want to do that some more. And then maybe I can make you come, because I want to see what you look like with my hand on your dick. That’s what I want. Is that okay?”

“Jesus Christ on flatbread,” Tyson says fervently. “Of course it is,  _ God.” _

Gabe grins at him and scoots closer, so near their noses brush. He traces the line of Tyson’s jaw with one reverent thumb, and then he wraps his hand around the nape of Tyson’s neck and seals their mouths together. 

Tyson lets himself sink into it with a sigh. Gabe is solid and warm, a heavy presence pressed up against him. Tyson slings a leg over Gabe’s hips, pulling him closer, and Gabe huffs pleased agreement into his mouth. Their cocks brush briefly and Tyson shivers. Gabe’s busy exploring the inside of his mouth in slow, filthy sweeps of his tongue, seemingly with no plan to do anything else for the rest of the night, hand still cradling Tyson’s nape. 

Tyson is warm, muscles loose, and every nerve seems to be lighting up under his skin. He strokes Gabe’s arm, follows the line of it down to his ribs. From there, he meanders farther, up to gently squeeze a nipple, then down again, along his stupid washboard abs. Gabe’s still kissing him, but he’s breathing harder, hips rolling almost unconsciously. Tyson wraps a hand around him, sighing into Gabe’s mouth at the feel of him, heavy and silken in his fist.

Gabe makes a strangled noise and tries to lift his head, but Tyson hooks his other arm under his neck and hauls him back swiftly. 

“Tys,” Gabe says against his mouth.

Tyson ignores him and rolls his wrist, making Gabe stiffen. He strokes him for a minute, enjoying the way Gabe’s eyes are rolling back in his head, but then he stills his hand, deepening the kiss instead. 

_ I love you, _ he tells him silently, licking into his mouth deep and sweet.  _ I’ve loved you for so long. _

Gabe’s hand has left Tyson’s neck and is clutching his arm. Tyson strokes him and Gabe’s hand tightens. Then he lets go and snakes it between them to grip Tyson’s shaft.

_ Oh fuck. _ Tyson can’t stifle the noise that tears free and Gabe’s smile is smug against his mouth as he sets a steady rhythm.

Tyson’s forgotten what time it is, what day it is, his own name. Of  _ course _ Gabe is good at this, just like he’s good at everything, the bastard, but Tyson will be damned if he wins this particular race.

He tightens his grip and struggles to ignore Gabe’s hand, pushing away the orgasm that coils at the base of his spine. Gabe’s breathing harder, his hips jolting with every twist of Tyson’s wrist, and Tyson sucks his lower lip into his mouth, grazing it with his teeth, and Gabe breaks the kiss with a groan that sounds ripped from him as he comes in hot spurts over Tyson’s hand.

Tyson laughs, breathless and triumphant, and Gabe flops onto his back, draping an elbow over his face.

“I win,” Tyson announces, and Gabe moves his arm enough to glare at him.

“Competitive asshole.”

“Says the  _ other _ professional hockey player,” Tyson counters, and leans in to kiss him. “Hey. How was it?”

Gabe pushes him away. “Fuck off, you know it was amazing.”

“Maybe I want to hear it,” Tyson points out, propping himself on an elbow to grin down at him.

Gabe smiles back and then his hand is back on Tyson’s cock and he’s stroking him back to full hardness, blue eyes intent on Tyson’s face, and Tyson’s back bows as he comes in under a minute, shaking and gasping through the orgasm as Gabe gentles his touch. Tyson collapses next to him, breathless.

“It was amazing,” Gabe whispers. He kisses Tyson’s nose. “You’re amazing.” He kisses Tyson’s cheekbone, then the bolt of his jaw. “Thank you.”

Tyson stretches luxuriously. “Everything about me is amazing,” he announces, mostly to see the look on Gabe’s face.

Sure enough— “Everything except this beard,” Gabe says smartly, and Tyson laughs out loud. 

“It’s good luck,” he says, and Gabe bends to kiss him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was literally just an excuse to write Gabe and Tyson bickering and bantering and being idiots.
> 
> [Come talk to me about Tyson's shitty playoff beard!](http://greymichaela.tumblr.com)

**Author's Note:**

> [Come remind me that this novel won't write itself (and feed me and tell me I'm pretty)](http://greymichaela.tumblr.com)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Title from Song of Solomon because if I'm going to hell I'm doing it in _style_


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